


The Nigerian Sentinel Job

by willowoak_walker



Series: The Sentinel Jobs [1]
Category: Leverage, The Sentinel
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Sentinels and Guides Are Known, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-11
Updated: 2015-08-06
Packaged: 2018-04-03 23:58:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 10,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4119274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/willowoak_walker/pseuds/willowoak_walker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Nigerian Job in a world with Sentinels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Parker perches on the scaffolding above the Guides, settling her rig into place. Hardison, the hacker, objects to the comms the employer provided. His voice drips disdain, and the alternative he provides smells like him. Like sparks and ozone and lasers. He’s all high-tech, modern and game breaking. She takes the comm and fits it to her ear. It scratches a little, and the voices are too loud, and echo strangely, but she’ll manage.

Eliot, the hitter, has a growl sitting in the bottom of his voice box. His relaxed and graceful movements speak of threat and violence, but he smells safe. Like what she thinks home is supposed to smell like, cleanness and wood and the smells of cooking. She can pick spices off him, garlic and peppers, cardamom, rosemary.

It’s kind of nice working with Guides. These are staying professional.

***

“Age of the geek, baby,” Hardison tells the others, “We run the world.”

“You keep telling yourself that,” Eliot says, stalking off. His aura’s controlled in a way Hardison’s has never been, still and smooth. He moves like a fish through the affect, and Hardison can’t help but be impressed. Man’s like an ice-berg - nine-tenths underwater. Hardison resists the urge to poke him. Nana always told Hardison that poking people just to see what they’d do was rude.

He looks up at Parker instead. She’s gorgeous. Her physical body is as nice an athlete’s build as he’s ever seen, lean, strong, fast. Her aura, open as any unbonded Sentinel’s, is ordered, mechanical. Too complicated for him to pick out symbology. But he can read her delighted readiness, her complete surety. Confidence looks similar in any mind.

***

“Nate, relax,” Eliot says, “We know what we’re doing.” Nate ignores him, of course. Too damn good for a crew of thieves.

“Aw, he doesn’t want to be our pal,” Hardison says, laughing, and Eliot runs his eyes over him again. Hardison’s all electric, sparking circuitry stretched in a human frame. Modern, alive in a way Eliot’s not used to. Vibrant. Eliot would say untrained, but that would be misleading. The lighting storm the man has for a mind is disciplined. He just doesn’t control his Guide-gift using any system Eliot’s ever studied.

The affect shifts as Parker readies herself for flight, and Eliot gives her one last look. He’s seen structures like her mind before, but not used that way. It looks like a windmill turned sideways to use for water. She works, though. That’s the important thing. Eliot’s seen Sentinels drown in their senses before, but Parker’s holding her own. She runs off the edge of the roof before the count. Eliot starts moving as Nate swears over the comms. Parker knows what she’s doing. She just won’t do it the way Nate would like.

***

The wind whistles across her ears as she plunges down the side of the building, and she screams with joy. She comes to a tidy stop in front of the appointed window, and peers in.

“Vibration alarms are on,” she says. People always want to spoil her fun. Nathan Ford tells her not to cut, as if she couldn’t figure it out on her own, and she runs the melter in a tidy circle on the window’s surface, wrinkling her nose at the smell. She pushes the cutout into the room, reaches into the room through the hole, and drops the remote to her rig on the desk. She presses the key that releases her rope, and stands on her hands on the desk for a moment as it slides away.

She dances into the room, and through it, and out, without so much as losing the pencil that rolls off the desk.

The access to the wiring is just across the hall, and she gets in easily. It isn’t locked. It takes her a few moments to splice in Hardison’s clever little devices and hijack the elevator, but security doesn’t spot a thing.

***

Parker starts the elevator down the moment Eliot complains about it - luck or good timing, Hardison isn’t sure. But anyway, the elevator takes the him and Eliot to the right floor, and they’re heading toward the server room, clean and easy.

Hardison hooks Mac up to the keypad on the door, and watches her start running through combinations. “Ten digit password? I salute you, sir.” They have an hour before the guard came through, that’s plenty of time. But Nate Ford is telling them they don’t have an hour. Guards coming through early, it’s the playoffs. _Sports,_ he thinks, and looks up sharply as Eliot vanishes from the affect. Literally, vanishes. Man is just _gone_. Seriously? You should not be able to do that. And what’s Ford talking about now?

“Bait? Hold up, hold up, wait a minute,” Seriously, he is not dealing with this, “No you ain’t talkin’ bout me, I ain’t nobody’s bait.” But there is no way Mac will be fast enough, so he drops her, grabs the bag, turns to run, and - shit.

Hardison drops the duffle and keeps his eyes on the men with guns. For the first half-second, anyway. The half-second before the affect breaks with feral joy, and Eliot is blurring among the guards too fast to focus on. Hardison tries. It’s over before the duffel hits the ground. Hardison is impressed. Eliot unloads the gun, tosses it over his shoulder. Casual, habitual.

“That’s what I do.”

Damn right it is. Eliot’s resonating with easy satisfaction, a hum in the affect that sings along Hardison’s bones. He tips his head in respect as the door clicks open behind him. _And that_ , he thinks, _Is what I do._

***

Hardison cocks a smile at Eliot as the door swings wide. Eliot gives him the same courtesy of acknowledgement and respect that Hardison gave him a moment ago. They’re resonating, a little. Satisfaction, confidence, the joy of a heist going well. It’s been a while. (This is why he used to work with a team.) Ford asks for an update over the comms, and Eliot drags the unconscious guards into the room full of servers.

Hardison’s all aglow at the computer. His aura sparkles and dances, spreading tendrils across the room as he breaks the computer. Or seduces it. Reprograms it. Eliot waits in the doorway for him to finish. Hardison laughs like a child at a party. He’s frighteningly young. _Not your problem, Spencer_ , Eliot reminds himself, and withdraws from the affect so he doesn’t get caught up in Hardison’s unwatchful joy.

“You give them a virus?” Eliot finds himself asking as they leave.

“Dude,” Hardison laughs, “I gave them more than one.”

***

The boys are moving now, and Parker’s out of time. “Problem,” she says, “Those guards you ganked? They reset all the alarms on the roof and the floors above us.” The breathing she’s been half-hearing through her earpiece changes pattern - three breaths drawn in a little out of sync. She waits a moment for the great Nathan Ford to chime in on the problem. He doesn’t. She adds, “We can’t go up.”

“Every man for himself, dude,” Eliot says, almost a laugh. A heat starts in her stomach at that, and she starts cleaning up her devices.

“Go ahead, I’m the one with the merchandise,” Hardison says. Parker sticks herself in to break the fight before it starts.

“Yeah, well I’m the one with the exit.” It doesn’t work. Parker can hear them drawing breath to retort, but Nathan Ford breaks in at last.

“And I’m the one with the plan,” he says, “Now I know you children don’t play well with others,” they all resent that silently, “But I need you to hold it together for exactly seven more minutes. Now get to the elevator, and head down. We’re going to the burn scam.” Parker grins. She likes the burn scam.

“Time for plan B,” Hardison says as Parker finishes her cleanup.

“Technically, that would be plan G,” Nathan Ford says, and Parker giggles. She hurries to catch the elevator the Guides are riding, stripping her shirt off as she enters. They turn away, pulses and skin temperatures rising. She’d forgotten people feel things when she gets naked.

***

Parker apparently has no body-shyness. Hardison flicks his eyes toward Eliot, and they both turn away to finish with the ties for their disguises. It’s still awkward.

“How many plans do we have?” Hardison asks, for distraction, and because this is apparently plan G, “Is there like a plan M?”

“Yah,” Ford says, “Hardison dies in plan M.” Seriously? Seriously?

“I like plan M,” Eliot rumbles, and the lack of emotion in his aura is suddenly a lot more threatening when Hardison remembers how much he liked taking down those guards. There’s no real malice coming off him now, but there wasn’t any then, either. Helping a half-naked Sentinel finish her disguise might honestly be safer than annoying Eliot. Hardison pulls the makeup and prosthetic out, and tries to be unthreatening.

***

“Nice,” Eliot snarls at the security guard in the lobby, “Why don’t ya stare a little more?” The man’s mortified already, and the offense in Eliot’s voice is enough to send him stammering apologies. He’s too busy trying to make up for staring at the poor disabled woman to wonder why the three of them are there. “You gotta be kidding me,” Eliot says over him as Parker limps feebly along with her cane.

“It’s all right, Tom,” she wobbles, and Eliot’s heart goes out to her for all that he put the brace on her leg and knows the burn is fake. That kind of stare is not okay.

“No, it’s not,” Hardison says, and they get through the spinning door and out to the curb, leaving the guard’s sticky mortification behind them. Ford’s waiting in the car, and they get away clean.


	2. Chapter 2

This reeks. Hardison knows damn well that he sent off those files. And now Dubenich calls, claiming he got nothing, and demanding to meet in an abandoned aircraft facility? _Hin_ ky. Someone else fucked this up. Hardison’s part got done. He sneaks into the facility, hunting for Ford or Dubenich. He can’t spot either. Eliot Spencer’s here.

Eliot turns, spots him. Raises his eyebrows without taking his hands out of his pockets. Hardison’s done his research, he knows the guy has killed. A lot. Man’s listed in the US special forces records as a loose cannon. Hardison sees absolutely no reason to trust him.

“You did it, man,” he says, and holds the gun on Eliot, for all the good that will do him, “When we was coming down in the elevator.”

“You had the file the whole time,” Eliot says, acid annoyance sparking out around the edges of his aura, “And you think I did something? Stupid.” He’s not even trying to disarm Hardison, which Hardison knows he could do, and, honestly, the best argument Eliot has on his side is the fact that Hardison isn’t already fucking dead. So Hardison goes to do an aural scan, and stops before he even reaches Eliot’s shields because Nate Ford’s yell snaps him worldward. Hardison turns his gun on Ford. New threat.

***

Eliot turns to watch Nate walk toward them. Nate’s hungover, pain blurring his aura, and doubtless his thinking. If Hardison didn’t do it, and Eliot is honestly willing to believe he didn’t, Nate’s the next mostly likely.

“D’you do it?” Eliot asks, “You’re the only one who ever worked both sides.” Nate looks at him.

“You’re awfully calm for a guy with a gun pointed at him,” Nate says, which is disappointingly not perceptive of him.

“Safety’s on,” Eliot says, and doesn’t care that it’s a lie. Hardison knows, too, and the suspicion in his aura sparks to the forefront.

“Like I’m gonna fall for that,” Hardison says.

“No, no,” Nate says, “He’s right, safety is on.” He’s good. Eliot can only tell he’s lying because he already knows. Hardison falls for it, tipping the gun to one side to check the safety. Nate snatches the weapon away easily. Hardison’s flailing attempts to look as if he allowed that on purpose would be funny if they were more believable. God, the kid had no self-defense skills at all. And Nate was aking if Eliot was armed?

“No,” Eliot said, tired of this, “I don’t like guns.”

_Mediocre._

***

“My money’s not in my account,” Parker says, pointing her gun at Nathan Ford, who points his gun at her. His heartbeat’s elevated, but the hangover he must have from all that vodka will slow his reflexes. She holds her gun so it points at the ceiling, safer. “That makes me cry inside,” Parker goes on, walking to stand between the Guides. (It satisfies Sentinel instincts AND gives her a good view of the threat. Win-win.) “In my special angry place.” The men are doing that nervous thing people do when she’s being strange in a scary way. Good.

Nathan Ford reaches forward and lowers her gun gently. Parker lets him - she thinks she’s been threatening enough for a bit.

“Would you come here to be paid?” he asks.

“Hell, no,” Hardison says, and goes on for a moment about why not.

“Supposed to be a walk-away,” Eliot says, “I’m never supposed to see you again.” Some Sentinel instinct Parker doesn’t usually deal with rises at that.

“The only reason you’re here is that you didn’t get paid,” Nathan Ford says, and starts to laugh. “And you’re pissed off.” Parker doesn’t know how not getting paid is funny. Her glances to her sides reveal that the Guides are just as confused as she is.

She’s not the one who’s being strange this time.

***

“As a matter of fact,” Nate says, “The only way to get us in the same place at the same time,” Hardison doesn’t like the vicious comprehension cutting through the fog in the man’s aura. “Is to tell us that we’re not. Getting. Paid.” The affect shatters as Hardison, Eliot and Parker all realize at once. Dubenich is going to kill them. The warehouse is going to blow.

They burst into motion, running for the nearest door. There are stairs. Ford’s up them first, and holds down the button to open the door. Hardison trips on the last step, chasing Parker, and the fall knocks the wind from him. Someone grabs him from the back and pulls him forward. He stumbles through the door, and in the moment he has to think before the explosion knocks him out, he realizes he just got saved by Eliot.


	3. Chapter 3

Nate takes his own sweet time waking up. Even the cops printing them doesn’t get much of a twitch. The cops handcuff Eliot in the chair, and Nate to the bed. Then they leave them alone. This is pretty low security, even given that they’re in a hospital. This place isn’t even sound-proofed, and is certainly not prepared for Sentinel senses or Guide empathy. Eliot can read Parker and Hardison in the next room through the affect. They seemed not badly injured, but they are tense. Parker less so— she’s just twitchy. Eliot waits. The police will have to un-cuff him from this chair eventually, and then he’ll be able to get out.

Nate wakes up and panics. Eliot watches him for a moment with the amusement he used to reserve for stuck beetles. “You don’t like hospitals,” he says.

“Not much,” Nate says, trying to sit up. The handcuffs attaching him to the bed foil his attempt, and clank loudly.

“It’s about time,” Parker says from the next room. It takes Nate a confused moment to process that. “The cops and firemen got there just as we were waking up.”

“Have we been processed?” Nate asks, struggling with the handcuffs. He’s not all the way awake yet. Eliot wiggles his inked fingers in the man’s general direction.

“They faxed our prints to the State Police,” he says. They’d been talking about it.

***

“Yo, if the staties run us, man, we’re screwed,” Hardison says. He’s scared. Parker knows what scared looks like.

_Ignore the distractions, work the problem._

“How long?” Parker asks. To know, and to see if he can focus.

“Thirty, thirty-five minutes, depending on the software,” Hardison says, with one of those smiles that don’t mean happiness.

“They printed us twenty minutes ago,” Eliot says from the next room. He’s growly and irritated. “So unless we get out of here in the next ten minutes,” he goes on, “We all go to jail.” Nate tries to interrupt. Eliot ignores him. “Listen, I can take these cops.”

“Don’t you dare,” Parker says, “You kill anybody, you screw up my getaway!” Hardison complains about still being handcuffed, and Parker shoots him a look. What kind of thief can’t pick a lock?

“Parker,” Nate yells, and he sounds like he hurts, “Get me a phone. What we’re gonna do is, we’re gonna get out of this together! Look, you guys know what you can do. I know what all of you can do. That gives me the edge, gives me the plan.” The notion of getting out together rouses those Sentinel instincts Parker doesn’t like.

“I don’t trust these guys,” she says.

***

Seriously, nobody wants to be friends. Hardison is kind of tired of it. Did nobody else notice how hard they rocked last night?

“Do you trust me?” Nate is saying, and he needs to chill, because the answer is so much no that they’re never gonna get out of here.

But then Eliot says, “Of course,” and that iceberg aura he is shifts, and the whole affect tilts disorientingly into a place where they can. “You’re an honest man.” And for all the irony in that, it means something.

And even Nate seems aware of it as he repeats, “Parker, phone.”

Parker rolls her eyes, says, “This is gonna suck,” and makes herself throw up by sticking her fingers down her throat. It’s disgusting. Hardison looks away, and calls the nurses. Watching other people throw up is almost as bad as throwing up. 

The nurse who shows up brings a doctor, and Hardison lifts a flip-phone from her. Parker got a smartphone. They swap.

Oh, blessed internet. Hardison’s rolling again.

***

Parker slides Nate a flip-phone through the grating. Nate tosses it to Eliot.

“The trick is to give them what they want, right?” Nate says, sure through his pain. “They’re expecting a phone call.” Eliot calls the hospital number Hardison tells him and asks for the officer who’d been left in charge. He gives a plausible name and middle rank for an introduction, trusting his professional grade midwest hick accent to carry the deal.

“Yes, we got those prints you faxed us, and my problem is they’re pulling up all kinds of red flags. I’ve got a man on the phone for you from the FBI down in Washington, can you hold, son?” He gets the officer’s “Yes, sir,” and tosses the phone to Nate.

Eliot can’t read auras over the phone any more than anyone else, but he was doing this long before he came online. They're selling it.

***

Hardison sticks his face on a legitimate-looking record he has stashed in a drop-box for emergencies. He ignores Parker’s fizzing excitement and Nate’s headache-y busyness in favor of digging up the hospital’s fax number. It’s sent. The conversation in the next room goes from Eliot to Nate, and there’s nothing left for Hardison to do but listen and wait.

Hardison hates waiting.

The police come in quickly, though, all respectful apologies. They’re perfectly willing to hand over custody to the ‘undercover FBI agent’, and they even lend him a car. Hardison gets the others stuffed into it. (Eliot gives him a bit of trouble. How is he tall enough to hit his head on anything?)

Hardison makes sure to give the police officers a little respectful speech before driving away. They don’t read his irony.

***

It actually works! Parker grins as they pull away from the sidewalk. She can hear the police getting upset with the nurses behind them, but in the car all is smugness. Well, Eliot smells disgruntled, but he’s menstruating. That is never fun.

They swap cars twice before getting where Hardison’s taking them. Parker boosts the first, but Hardison actually has the keys to the second.

“Whose place is this?” Parker asks, as they walk up the stairs of an apartment building.

“Mine,” Hardison says, and unlocks the door to a wide, airy apartment. He grins. “Age of the geek, baby.”

Parker takes an appreciative sniff. It smells like him. Cleaning products unscented and allergen free, no pets. Sentinel safe, she notes. The air-purifiers in the corners do double-duty as white noise generators. Hardison hasn’t given up the notion of a bond yet. Cute.


	4. Chapter 4

“Four first-class tickets to anywhere _but_ here, comin’ up,” Hardison says, and Eliot wonders why first-class. He’s not gonna look a gift horse in the mouth, though, even if it does bang his head on car doors. Instead, he walks over to where Parker is leaning on a pillar by one of the air-purifiers. Hardison keeps his hole Sentinel-safe. How much of his ‘loner’ reputation is pure brag? Or maybe he has _legal_ friends.

“I’m gonna beat Dubenich so hard, even the people who look like him gonna bleed,” Eliot growls. Business.

“You won’t get within a hundred yards,” Parker remarks, “He knows your face. He knows all our faces.” Dammit, she’s right. But still.

“He tried to kill us!”

“And more importantly, he didn’t pay us,” Parker says. She’s calm as a cat, body language and aura.

“How is that more important?” Eliot sputters. God, this one’s gonna be hard to protect.  
_Not your problem, Spencer._

***

“I take that personal,” Parker’s saying, all hot easy confidence.

“There’s something wrong with you,” Eliot growls, and he sounds legitimately appalled, Guide instincts flicking up into view along his edges. Hardison's got to break this up before it gets emotional.

“Hey, hey, heads up, look,” he says, and settles into the familiar affect of the flat a little more firmly. _Your guests are your responsibility as long as they are in your home, Alec._ Besides, he has something to tell them. “Dubenich’s story is 90% true. He is the head of Bering Aerospace, big rival of Pierson.” Which they probably already know, if they did the research. But Hardison isn’t willing to assume that. “But check out what my little Webcrawlers coughed up.”

He lets the little video of Pierson complaining about his loss run up to the point where he starts promising retribution, then cuts it. Again, this is just a basic Google.

“Could be a cover story,” Nate says, and he’s right.

Except - “Here’s a log of last night’s rip. Internal timestamps on the project, 2003, 2004.” He can feel the dubiousness rising like a cloud around the others, so he goes on. “They’re way, way down in the code. There’s no reason to fake those, man.” 

***

“So we didn’t steal the plans back?” Eliot asks. He’s being a little slow on the pick-up, like maybe he expected Dubenich to be honest.

“No,” she says, “We were just stealing them.”

“Why would Dubenich lie to us?” Hardison asks. Parker has to cock her head at that one, because it _was_ a risk. No-one likes being lied to, and they’d all had something on Dubenich in the very fact that he’d come to them with his sob story. It was an extra risk to lie to a Sentinel, but Parker is off the SGC’s grid. Dubenich wouldn’t have known. Still, a risk, and to what benefit?

“Because you’re thieves,” Nate says, as if that’s an answer. “If he hired you for a straight-up crime, you’d know he was a bad guy. Like you.” Eliot shifts his balance and scrunches his face at that description, but he doesn’t explode into violence. “You’d be suspicious. This way, you saw just another citizen in over his head. That’s why you didn’t see the double-cross coming.” Parker considers this. It’s not unreasonable. Just one problem.

***

“Why didn’t you see it coming?” Parker asks. That’s the most helpful thing she’s said all day.

“Because I’m not a thief,” Nate says, and Eliot really wants to punch him. The superiority complex that man has going on rankles. Eliot knows himself well enough to admit that it’s partly because Nate _does_ have the moral high ground. Or did.

“You know what,” Eliot starts, “Maybe that was part of the problem, maybe if you hadn’t —” Hardison interrupts him by walking between them with the tickets.

Eliot’s got to respect the kid. He’s got guts. No sense, but definite guts.

“I have four tickets,” Hardison’s saying, “To London,” Eliot takes the paper, “Rome,” that one’s for Parker, “Paris,” to Nate, “and Sao Paulo,” which Hardison keeps for himself, “matching the IDs that you gave me.”

“You’re running!” Nate says.

“Yes, sir,” Eliot says, he thought that was obvious. “You got a better idea?” But no, Nate’s not talking to him.

***

Nate’s not talking to Eliot. “No, no,” he says, and leans in over Hardison’s computer, the screen displaying information on Dubenich. “ _You’re running._ That was a high-risk play.” Nate’s headache fog hasn’t actually, as far as Hardison can tell, cleared, but he’s thinking with a whirring mechanical precision now. Nate’s aura cuts the affect, pulling it vortex-like in toward him. Hardison’s attention is riveted. Nate’s not even _trying_. “You got your balls tied to the stock price like a cinderblock,” the other two are being drawn into this, man is scary, “Shareholder meeting coming up. We can’t let this guy have any time to cool down.”

“You wanna run game on this guy,” Eliot says. He’s agitated, tense and wary. “ _You_?” The disbelief in that is probably justified by the way Nate legitimately expected Eliot to be scared of Hardison’s gun. Man has _not_ done his research. On one of them.

“Yeah, I mean, how do you think I got most of my stolen merchandise back?” And maybe Hardison hadn’t done his research on Nate. But hey, in a good con, the mark never knows what happened. “I mean this guy,” Nate went on, “He’s greedy, he thinks he’s smart, he’s the best kind of mark.”

Hmm.

***

“He does think he got rid of us,” Parker says. She’s starting to like this plan.

“Element of surprise,” Hardison says, with a big goofy smile. He’s in.

“What’s in it for me?” Eliot asks, jerking his chin up aggressively. He’s still tense.

“Payback,” Nate says, “And if it goes right, a _lot_ of money.” Eliot settles with that.

“What’s in it for me?” Parker asks. Can’t let him think he’s got her that easy.

“A _lot_ of money,” Nate says, “And if it goes right, payback.” Okay, he’s got her. Parker likes money. Money never lies to you. “Hardison?” Nate says, as if he hadn’t caught him already. Parker supposes this must be being polite. She still doesn’t follow that.

“Oh, I was just gonna send a thousand porno magazines to his office,” Hardison says, “but, hell yeah, man, let’s kick him up.” So they’re doing this. Parker grins. Money _and_ payback. She likes this already.

***

“What’s in it for you?” Eliot asks, because he has to know that they’re all in this together. Nate has to take a moment. He struggles with emotions. Grief, Eliot reads off him. Less like a bruise than a very fresh injury. Still bleeding.

“He used my son,” Nate says. That would do it. Eliot gives him a silent moment. It'll do. “Right,” Nate says, moving on, “Let’s go get Sophie.” He starts toward the door of the flat. Parker and Hardison follow him. Eliot stays behind for a moment, half out of cursed Southern stubbornness, half out of confusion.

“What the hell’s a Sophie?”


	5. Chapter 5

Hardison is relieved to get back to his apartment, even if they do bring along Sophie. That woman is a terrible actor. Actress. Whatever. Now, Hardison is not a great one for acting, but he can recognize a terrible job when he sees one. Cutting off in the middle of her lines was the least of it.

The body language, ugh. All at odds with her aura _and_ her lines. She had quite the affect on Nate, though. So Hardison lets her in and makes welcoming noises. (And orders pizza, he is hungry.) He throws together a little summary of what they know while the pizza’s coming.

***

Sophie is a lot more pleasant when she isn’t trying to act. She knows Nate, and Dubenich doesn’t know her. As long as she’s not supposed to act, she’s probably useful. Parker sits on Hardison’s sofa and listens to him talk about their mark. Victor Dubenich is boring. Eliot comes over, bringing popcorn, and kicks her feet off the table. Parker lets him. She thinks that’s one of those polite things, and besides, she wants popcorn. Nate is talking.

“Victor,” he says, “Victor, Victor, Victor. When was the last time you met a Victor?”

“Vietnam,” Eliot says, which is a where, not a when, but maybe he means when he’d been there, “Town called Ben Hose Ey.” Yep, Parker still does not speak Vietnamese. She might have to work on that.

“Chinese border,” Sophie says. It’s her normal voice. Her normal voice is not terrible. Just her acting voice.

“That’s an odd thing for you to know,” Eliot says, settling back into the sofa so he has a better view of Sophie’s face and line of attack for the back of her neck.

“That’s an odd place for you to be,” Sophie says, settling back to match him. Are they having an odd competition? Parker usually wins those.

***

Hardison interrupts Sophie and Eliot’s little staring contest before it can get really serious. Eliot is _prickly_. Is this Benhoyay place special, or is he always like this? Anyway.

“Bering is in charge of all the big fat government contracts,” Hardison says, “Some research for the Department of Defense, classified stuff.”

“Can we use that?” Parker asks. Woman after his own heart.

“No,” unfortunately, “I don’t think so. Dubenich is in charge of their _commercial_ airline business.” Nate turns toward Hardison, starting his intent thought-vortex thing again.

“Now, I know when you sent Dubenich those designs you weren’t supposed to make any copies.” Nate’s sharp.  
“Nah, I promised,” Hardison says. More for humour than with any expectation of passing the lie. “And that would be very wrong.”  
“Show me your copies,” Nate says. It’s the perfect punchline, so Hardison just flicks a bunch of the main blueprints across the screen.

***

“That’s an airplane,” Eliot says. Hardison’s running the blueprints by too fast for him to get more off of them.

“That’s a short-haul domestic airliner,” Nate says. That is impressive. The mechanical Charybdis the man has for a mind works _fast_. “Yeah, usually one hour flights, it’s the fastest growing segment of the industry, very fuel efficient, very high-tech, very nice carbon nose.” Eliot takes his glasses off. Nate does not suddenly make more sense seen that way. Pity. “It’s got the titanium wrap, 3 to 1.” Nate realizes that they are all staring at him with an aural stutter. “You know, you pick up things here and there.” Which is true, but not normally in that kind of detail.

“You pick up a lot of stuff,” Hardison says. Parker laughs. Apparently that was actually funny in Parker-land. Parker land is different.

_Still not your problem, Spencer._

***

Nobody else gets it. Parker’s used to that. It’s still funny, though. 

“Now, check this out,” Hardison says, so she does. “Pierson and Dubenich, they were going head-to-head for five years, trying to grab the lead in an industry that’s worth, like, eleventy billion dollars.” That’s a lot of money. Parker approves.

“Pierson got there first,” she says, “Dubenich took the short-cut.” No-one corrects her, so she keeps eating popcorn. They have it the right way round, now.

“He has a rival,” Nate says. Yep. “A rival who ticks him off so much he hired us to steal his designs. This is good.” Sophie’s relaxing now, like she knows what’s going on. Parker looks over at her.

“What’re you thinking, Nate?” Sophie asks. Friendly.

“I’m thinking Nigerians,” Nate says. “Yeah, Nigerians will do nicely.” Then he just walks away. Parker’s pretty sure that’s not polite. Nigerians will do what nicely? Sophie seemed to know, though. Parker looks to her. The Guides are looking, too.

“Well, he hasn’t changed a bit,” Sophie says.

Right, then.


	6. Chapter 6

Hardison’s listening in from the loft while the others go do stuff. Well, at least he can drink his orange soda without hiding in the floor.

“Here comes a mountain of suck,” Hardison says, sinking into his chair. Sophie’s meeting the mark. She has to act now. He’s actually kind of impressed she hasn’t fucked it up already. He listens in on the conversation over the comms.

“We create jobs and trade in Africa,” Sophie’s saying, “Keep the graft and the stealing manageable.” Her accent’s even, smooth. She doesn’t sound like someone try to pass a lie. It is nothing like her acting.

“She’s not awful,” Hardison says, shaking his head vaguely.

“This is her stage,” Nate says, looming behind Hardison like a teacher, “Sophie Deverauex is the finest actress you’ve ever seen,” is he proud? “When she’s breaking the law.” Hardison is willing to believe that, now. She still totally sucked in that play, though. Dubenich follows her out of his office like a duckling. They are go.  
Hardison crashes Dubenich’s secretary’s computer.

***

Parker answers the phone from inside the floor. This is a neat trick, and one she likes pulling. Old hard-wired systems are easier to spoof by old-fashioned means. Besides, there’s no way you’ll get the wrong call.

“Hello, I.T.” she says.

“Hello, this is Victor Dubenich’s office,” the secretary says, a bit frazzled. “My computer just completely crashed.”

“Oh, well, I’m sorry to hear that,” Parker says, and she doesn’t have to make that sound real because a real I.T. person wouldn’t either. “Have you tried turning it off and on again?” Hardison’s victim tells Parker that nothing works in one ear, while Hardison himself brags about his script in the other.

“We’ve got someone on your floor already,” Parker says. Her smile is starting to ache. The secretary hangs up, thankfully, and Parker reattaches the wires and shimmies through the floor toward Dubenich’s office.

***

Eliot’s wearing his fake glasses. They aren’t actually prescription, but they’re better at making him look inoffensive. Parker cues him on the comms, and he walks in to help the poor secretary Hardison hacked.

“Somebody call I.T.?” he asks with the twitch of a smile that professional courtesy calls for. The secretary’s frazzled. Dubenich is an unpleasant boss. Eliot shifts his aura a little to add good natured helpfulness to his projection of harmlessness. The secretary settles, and gestures him helplessly toward her desktop. Eliot’s no computer wizard, but Hardison told him what sort of things she’d expect him to try, and the computer’s fine anyway.

Eliot checks connections and reboots the computer differently. Hardison lets him have the start screen. Sophie’s talking about Dubenich’s shareholder meeting on comms. Eliot ignores her, and explains to the secretary how to start a PC in safe mode. Hardison’s feeding him that. He lets it play into an actual conversation. Easier to keep her distracted. He does have to keep pulling her gaze back to the computer, though, so she doesn’t see Parker climbing around in Dubenich’s office.

***

Hardison ignores the conversations Eliot and Sophie are having with their marks, and concentrates on getting the feeds from the bugs Parker is planting. He does notice when Eliot mentions Klingons, though.

“I love dressing up as a Klingon and going to all the conventions, you know,” Eliot’s saying, and Hardison shakes his head. Then Eliot imitates Klingon, and it is the other side of enough.

“Oh hold on, man, that is not cool. That is not cool. We are having a strong talk when you get back,” Hardison says, “A strong talk.” Nate chuckles. Hardison glares at him. Nobody understands how important geek culture is. Hardison grumbles, and settles back to keeping track of all the signals. After all, Eliot may be playing a computer guy, but Hardison is one. Parker’s safely out of the office. (Hardison signals Eliot to stop flirting with the secretary, which Eliot does not do.)

“We can easily raise the money to build the facilities,” Sophie’s saying, “If we know for certain we’re going to get the contracts.” She’s got the guy on the hook, now. Chance to make all that money and presented by a sexy woman - who could turn that down?

Dubenich, apparently. Hardison sighs, biting hard on disappointment.

“That was a nice try, man,” he says to Nate. Nate’s not upset, though. His aura’s still stable and confident.

“Wait for it,” Nate says, so Hardison does. And then, dear heaven, Sophie threatens to go to Pierson. Dubenich takes it remarkably well, for a moment, considering how much he hates Pierson. But then Sophie starts complimenting his rival, and Hardison just sits back and admires the artistry.

“I’m aware you’re manipulating me,” Dubenich says. Hardison bites back a laugh at that one.

“I should hope so!” Sophie says, and goes on, “Hundreds of millions of dollars in new contracts and a load of good press - all at your door.” Dubenich gives in. He’ll meet the Nigerians.

Hardison grins as Nate slaps his shoulder. Nate’s overflowing with predatory triumph. It is getting all over the affect. They’ll be in a good mood all day at this rate. Hardison shakes his hand.


	7. Chapter 7

Parker likes Hardison’s apartment. It smells happy right now, and it’s not too loud. She sits on his sofa and picks locks. It’s not too loud to hear the tumblers clicking. She doesn’t even have to sharpen her hearing.

“Yo, Nate,” Hardison says, satisfied. Nate comes over from the pool table to look at Hardison’s computer. “We got all his finances off his hard drive. Got all his passwords.”

“Yeah?” Nate’s pleased.

“Yeah,” Hardison says. He’s relaxed in the chair. Comfortable, not shifting his weight often. He’s used to it. The place, the work. He sounds like Archie playing with a safe.

It’s comforting.

Nate goes back to his game with Eliot. He sighs. Sighs are annoying - they can mean far too many emotions. Probably satisfaction or tiredness, given the context.

“Your shot,” Eliot says. He’s still a little wary. Just sipping at his beer. He’s a lot more relaxed now than he was before they broke into the office, though. The con’s running well.

***

Eliot offers Nate a beer.

“I’m fine,” Nate says, and calls his shot. He makes it. His aura’s steady, now. He’s still injured, but the work is holding him afloat.

“You look better,” Eliot says. Testing the waters. At the confusion beginning to blur Nate’s edges, he adds, “Than when we started.”

“Yeah,” Nate says.

“Yeah, and that bothers you, huh?” Eliot asks.

“Yeah,” Nate says, and sighs. “Well, I mean, this isn’t supposed to feel…”

“Good?” Eliot cuts him off. Smiles. Nate’s shields go up, a little--metaphorically-- and he smiles the empty polite smile people use when they are uncomfortable with the direction a conversation is going. “It’s not that hard to figure out,” Eliot says. He didn’t even have to use the edge the Guide-gift gives him. He read the mess off of Nate’s body language with the traditional five senses. “Dubenich screwed ya,” and now Nate’s preparing for an attack. “He cheated by stealing from that other company, and your good-guy brain sees him as the bad guy.” Eliot is all too familiar with that kind of excuse. There’s nothing like righteousness to make people feel at ease with bad decisions. “Your conscience is clear.” Eliot sips his beer and watches Nate squirm.

“You wanna take your shot?” Nate asks. Eliot nods meaninglessly. He’s not done.

“Listen,” he meets Nate’s eyes, “I’m sorry about your kid.” Nate flinches away from that. Not physically, but the way he goes still is almost as telling as the aural shock.

“You don’t know anything about that,” Nate says.

“Everybody knows,” Eliot whispers, “Guy like you goes off the street, a _lot_ of people notice.” Everyone Nate meets from now till doomsday is going to try to use his son. “And it was a bad story, too.” Eliot lets himself shift back to a normal speaking voice. “How’d they justify that, huh, the insurance company just — not paying for his treatment?” Nate loses himself in the pain for a moment. Eliot watches. Not much he can do. Lancing the wound will be harder than this.

“They claimed it was experimental.”

Eliot has to snort at that. You laugh, or you cry, or you break. He offers a joke. “Shoulda kept one a those Monets you found, hmm? You fence that —”

“Eliot, you and I are not friends,” Nate says. There’s an edge to it. Cold and clean. Nate will break, then.

“Right,” Eliot says, “Right. ‘Cause you have so many of ‘em.”

_Just give up, Spencer._

***

Eliot’s been poking Nate pretty hard over at the pool table. He’s just using words, though. Hardison, now, he would have done a scan round about the time Nate went grey like that. Couldn’t from here, though, too far away and too many people. Eliot never left his shields at all, come to think of it. Paranoia, perhaps?

But Eliot’s done with Nate, now, and Sophie’s coming over. Asking for help with an earbud, is she? Classy. Hardison chuckles, and watches the by-play over his screen. Nate resists for a moment, reluctance tainting the affect, but his touch is fond as he puts the device in. Hardison lets himself expand slowly, sending out feelers toward the pair.

“So,” Sophie says, and hesitates. She’s making a play of some kind. “This time you really are inside my head.” That hits some old memory. Sophie leaves Nate to it. Hardison can’t. He rolls his chair across the room into Nate’s line of sight and points.

“Woooooah,” he says, “Wooah.” He turns to invite Parker to have a look at this odd romance. “Woah.” Sophie and Eliot are amused. Nate’s embarrassed. Parker doesn’t seem to get it. He’s gonna have to work pretty hard to figure out what she finds funny. Hardison shakes his head, reels his feelers in, and goes back to his computer.


	8. Chapter 8

Parker lurks in the stairwell in her harness and watches everyone scramble. Dubenich is on site a little early, apparently.  


“What? No, I’m not ready,” Sophie’s saying. A little breathy, like maybe she’s got stage-fright.  


“If you don’t meet him down in the lobby right now, he’s going to look in the building directory,” Nate says. “Guys, we are not _in_ the building directory.”  
Eliot pauses his climb up the stairwell (No-one’s watching, Parker cleared it for him) and growls, “And _why_ aren’t we in the building directory?” Parker nods. It’s a computer, right? Hardison could hack it. 

“I don’t know, maybe because they’re _fake offices_?” Hardison says. Oh, right, two different sets.

Hardison’s sitting out by Nate watching for Dubenich, so he doesn’t get to see Eliot climbing grumpily. Which is a pity. Grumpy Eliot is funny.

“There’s no elevator,” Sophie says. She’s panting a little.

“All right,” Nate says, “I’ll distract them. Parker, you’ve got ten seconds to get Sophie to the lobby.” This is gonna be fun. Parker pokes her head out of the door of the stairwell.

“Sophie,” she hisses. Sophie starts toward her from the elevators. Parker throws Sophie the spare harness as soon as she’s close enough to catch it. “Put this on.”

“What’s it for?” Sophie asks, all baffled and British and not putting it on. Parker drags her into the stairwell past Eliot and starts putting the harness on her. Some people.

“Speed,” she says. Parker clips both of their harnesses to the line. Sophie’s staring down and making scared. Silly. Parker clips their harnesses together. It’s not dangerous. Sophie screams all the way down. She lands very nicely, though.

***

Eliot finishes swapping the sign on the door. He’s even got time to dust it off a little so it doesn’t look suspiciously new before Sophie comes up in the elevator with the mark. The Nigerians are in place and unsuspecting. They are offended, though. Demanding bribes is not the best way to make friends, and Eliot doubts Dubenich can make them like him. Which is completely irrelevant, true, but Eliot takes a certain amount of pleasure in sharing his distaste with others.

“Nice job on the zip line,” Nate tells Parker. Who’s beyond Eliot scanning range, and theoretically could be anywhere. She’s probably with Hardison and Nate in person, though.

“Yeah, totally thought she was gonna break a leg,” Parker says. She must be there; she’d want to see their faces. Or maybe that’s too normal a motive for Parker. “Not bad for a first time.”

Eliot waits in the stairwell, half-listening to Sophie talking. Her accent’s not bad. She doesn’t take too long to finish up, and then people are leaving. Eliot holds the door for the Nigerians so they don’t notice the change in sign. He vanishes himself when they’re all out. Sophie holds Dubenich back for a moment. Eliot would stay to chat with Sophie, too, when she’s in that mood. In fact, it’s tickling some memory. A cocktail party? Anyway. Sophie sees Dubenich out. When they are all off the floor, he switches the sign back to the original.

With luck, no-one will notice at all.

***

Parker’s smug. (And apparently unaware that “Get Sophie down” meant _safely_. They are going to have to work on that.) Hardison collects Sophie as she leads Dubenich to his car, Eliot coming up behind them. Sophie’s professional as long as Dubenich is watching, but she fades to disdain as he’s out of sight. Eliot’s his usual grumbly self. Contained.  


“We’ve got him?” Nate asks.  


“Oh, we own him,” Sophie says. Her accent’s back to normal. Hardison can _taste_ how much she doesn’t like that guy.  


“Okay, gang, let’s go,” Nate says, and starts walking. “We have a busy day tomorrow.”  


“This’ll work, right?” Sophie asks. She’s actually a little anxious. Out of practice, maybe.  


“I guarantee it,” Nate says. Hardison makes a reflexive cancel gesture. Tempting fate is never wise. Not even when you have many many backup plans.

They pile into the car together. It’s a tight fit. Perhaps one of them shouldn’t have come.

Hardison hasn’t done anything in particular for this bit. The plan hadn’t called for Nate or Parker’s parts, either, though, so maybe he’d been being backup. Anyway, it kept them all together.  
Wait.  
When had that become a priority?  
Hardison glances along the back seat. Parker in the middle, Eliot at the other end. Comforting weights in the affect, keeping him settled. Nate driving, razor-sharp mind relaxed a little into the task. Sophie has shotgun, an alert and human presence.  
Balance.  
 _Tribe._  
Aw, fuck.


	9. Chapter 9

Eliot watches the crowds of FBI agents with wary eyes. None of them seem suspicious. Sophie’s passing well enough for now. Hardison steps out of the van, and nods. Cameras cleared of Sophie’s face, then. They start into the crowd of investigators, acting normal. Pick up a couple boxes of papers, carry them down to the ground floor and the waiting cars.

Hardison picks up a computer. Eliot watches him for a little, but he doesn’t seem to struggle with the weight. _Good._ Hardison’s computer doesn’t draw any attention from the swarming feds- they must be planning to pick up digital records as well as paper.

“We done?” Eliot asks when they’ve deposited their first load, “Longer we stay, riskier it gets.” Parker nods happily.

“I got into Dubenich’s office,” she says, and opens the door of the van. “I still don’t think giving him money is really stealing, though.” She wrinkles her nose in distaste.

***

Nate rolls his eyes at Parker’s complaint as they pile into the van she stole.  
“We’re planting evidence, Parker,” he says. Hardison rolls his own eyes at that: Nate’s tried that explanation before and it didn’t work.  
“We’re buying equipment,” Hardison offers, “It’s just that the equipment is the FBI.”

“Gotta get top quality,” Eliot adds from Parker’s other side, “That’s why it cost so much. Bad quality breaks on ya.”

“Oooh,” Parker says. “So we stole the FBI.”

Nate sighs. “I suppose.” Hardison shakes his head. Man, Nate is such a killjoy. Hardison tunes in to the audio feed he’s ripping from the bugs Eliot planted.

***

Parker took all the bugs out of Dubenich’s office. She doesn’t know where Hardison is getting what he’s listening to. She turns her head sideways at him and tries to frame a polite question.

“It workin’?” Eliot asks. Parker looks between them.

“What?” she says.

“Uh!” Hardison says, “Yeah, the bug on Higgins is giving me a really good feed. Thanks, Eliot.” His heartbeat speeds suddenly, and he starts making fear. “Shit,” he breaths, and switches the feed from his headphones to the car’s sound system. Parker’s rattled by the sudden change. She’d been trying to listen in to the headphones. By the time she’s refocused, everyone is nervous except Nate.

“ _\- Mr. Dubenich_ ,” a light alto voice is saying over the coms.

“ _They were conmen!_ ” Dubenich protests, perhaps in response. “ _This woman - Ana Gunshtodt - she said she worked for the African Trade Initiative, but they don’t even have an office in the city. She said_ they _wanted a bribe. I didn’t ask for anything,_ she _came to me!”_

“ _He’s telling the truth,"_ the alto says.

“Higgins brought in a truth specialist?" Parker asks.

*** 

Eliot hisses a ‘shush’ at Parker. He wants to find out exactly what the Truth-Teller has to say. The tension in the car is ringing in the affect. It hurts.

 _“What did they want from you?”_ Higgins is asking.

“Turn that off,” Nate says. “We don’t need to hear this is real time. Just keep it recording.”

 _“Money,”_ Dubenich says, and Hardison cuts off the audio. They are all silent for a long moment as Nate pulls the van into a parking garage.

“We’ll be off and gone before they can find us,” Sophie says.

“Really?” Hardison sputters, “The Chicago truth specialist is a highly active Sentinel! Whether she believes Dubenich or not, she’s gonna be looking for you! She can pick up your scent in that meeting room — ”

“And then what?” Nate demands, “Follow the scent through a crowd so closely she can figure out which car Sophie got in? That won’t let her track it through traffic.”

“Yeah,” Eliot says, and leans past Parker to catch Hardison’s eye, “Even trackers usually can’t follow one car in traffic unless they personally know it. And this is a truth specialist — she has totally different training.” Hardison isn’t calming down. _Dammit._

***

“Listen,” Hardison says, “They might _believe_ him!”

Parker shrugs. “By then, we’ll already have the money.”

“Dude,” Hardison sputters, dodging Eliot’s concerned gaze, “You lot may be comfortable being put on the hit list of an angry man with no morals and lots of money, but _I’m not_!” He’s panting. Parker makes a face, looking across at Eliot to see if it makes sense to him.

Nate sighs. “Hardison, would you work for a guy who tried to kill the last people he hired?”

“No,” Hardison says, and relaxes a little. “No I would not.”

“Right,” Sophie says, and opens her door. “I’m going shopping."  



	10. Chapter 10

“Fuck yeah!” Hardison says as Sophie tries on the latest pair of shiny shoes.

“No, no,” Sophie says, “I don’t think these would match my blue silk.”

“Sorry,” Hardison says, flailing at the shoe salesperson apologetically, “A good thing just happened on my phone.” The salesperson smiles absently, and runs her hands through her hair again. She’s been doing that more and more often. _Frequent stimming may indicate distress._ Parker’d read that in one of those doctor books that thought they knew things. Does that apply to neurotypical people? Parker wrinkles her nose. Hardison’s sneaking up toward her from where he’s been standing. She turns to look at him.

What is he doing?

***

Hardison is incredibly unsubtle. Eliot watches the salesperson warily, but she’s too frazzled by Nate and Sophie to be paying much attention to Hardison. Eliot goes back to scanning the area for potential threats. Just because he doesn’t expect any is no excuse to half-ass a bodyguard job.

That one worker carrying away rejected shoes gets close enough to Sophie that Eliot shifts his weight. The worker skuttles away nervously. Eliot’s next sweep of the team catches Hardison whispering urgently to Parker with many hand movements. Nate’s still leaning against the nearest wall, but he’s stopped fidgeting with his phone to watch the by-play.

“Oh!” Parker says, nodding with wide eyes, “That _is_ good.” Hardison nods excitedly and moves off to whisper to Nate. News of Dubenich, then. Eliot scans the store again. No other customers.

***

Hardison walks over to Eliot. He’s got to tell everyone. Eliot shifts so that Hardison is half between him and the wall, and Eliot can still see everyone else. _Totally paranoid._

“Hey, man, listen to this,” Hardison whispers, and offers Eliot one side of his earbuds. Eliot sticks it in the ear that doesn’t have the com, and raises his eyebrows. Hardison starts the playback from the bug on Higgins.

_“We found the bribe money, Sentinel,”_ Higgins had said, _“Dubenich may have convinced himself of this conman story, but the evidence runs all the other way. We’re going to charge him.”_

_“I hear you Agent,”_ the Truth-Teller had replied, _“I was afraid I wouldn’t be of much use here; these corporate types are often very good at self-deception.”_ Hardison cuts the recording off there. Eliot doesn’t need to know the Truth-Teller wants any information the FBI comes up with on Sophie. Keeping tabs on that sort of thing is Hardison’s job, and he is really good at it.

Now all he needs to do is wait until the stock markets close and Sophie is done buying shoes.


	11. Chapter 11

Nate’s gone off alone to call Dubenich and gloat. And rightly, too, Hardison has made them all stupid amounts of money. Nana’s little boy had never even dreamed about this kind of money. This wasn’t keep-the-roof-on money, or pay-the-medical-bills money, this wasn’t even buy-all-the-best-new-computers money. Hardison didn’t really know what someone would do with this much money. It made the amount Sophie had spent on shoes look like pocket change. Hardison saunters along behind Parker and Sophie and tries not to be too smug. Eliot, at least, can read his aura, and Hardison doesn’t want to spoil the surprise.

“What is it with women and shoes?” Parker asks randomly. Either she’s been storing this up since they finished shopping, or she’s using Sentinel hearing and listening to someone Hardison’s not aware of. Either way, it’s a genuine question.

“There’s something wrong with you,” Sophie says. She’s half-appalled, half-joking.

“That’s what I said,” Eliot tells her. He’s been twitching about Parker’s weirdness this whole damn time, and Hardison’s kind of ticked about it. There’s nothing wrong with Parker. She just doesn’t have social skills. Or at least, not rich person social skills. It’s not women and shoes, it’s rich people. Parker’s not rich people, even when she has money. Eliot must be used to rich women.

Hardison supposes that they’re all rich now.

***

“Oh, and don’t say anything about us to the feds,” Nate’s saying, “Next time we won’t be so nice.” He closes his flip-phone with a click. Parker watches him come down the walk toward them. Hardison hands out envelopes. Parker opens hers and looks at the number on the check inside. It is a very big number.

“Wha-,” Sophie says, “Come - uh.” Eliot just goes very still. Hardison is twitching with satisfaction.

“Job well do-” Nate starts, and then realizes what he’s looking at. “Whoa.” Hardison starts trying to explain it, but Parker doesn’t follow. She doesn’t think anyone else does either. After a moment, he gives up.

“I’m just very good at what I do.” Parker believes that.

“This is _the_ score,” she says, “ _The_ score.” Even Eliot is impressed by how much money this is- he’s smiling.

“Age of the geek, baby,” Hardison says, and walks over to Eliot so they can be happy together. Eliot baps him with the envelope.

“Somebody kiss this man so I don’t have to,” Eliot says. He sounds happy about it, so Parker thinks he must be one of those people who actually like kissing people. She’s pretty sure that’s actually a thing. Nobody kisses Hardison at all, though. Eliot and Hardison just laugh about it. It’s probably politeness again.

***

“So, we’re out, right?” Hardison says, “I mean, this is retirement money. Go legit and buy an _island_ money.” Hardison’s neat little flat is legally paid for. There aren’t any illegal weapons hidden around it - Eliot checked. Man doesn’t even have a decent steak knife. Hardison probably could get out. Or mostly out. In a few years, he’ll have changed the face of technology.

Eliot — if it were only money keeping Eliot in this business, he’d be a professional cook. Eliot can’t get out. He’s as out as he’ll ever be. Even ‘go legit and buy an island money’ won’t change that.

It might let him get some things done, though. It’s not enough to finish what he started in Burma, they know to expect him there, but he might be able to take down a couple human traffickers he knows about.

“Yeah, uh, pleasure working with you,” Nate says. He’s starting to sink, a little, in the affect. Without the job to keep him, he’s unfocused. Eliot gives him a week, maybe a week and a half of idleness. He’ll crash again.

“One show only,” Eliot says, trying to make himself believe it, “No encores.”

“I already forgot your names,” Parker lies. They look at each other, around the circle. Hardison’s being too quiet. Eliot shouldn’t know what too quiet is for him.

***

Nate walks between Hardison and Eliot, goading them into motion. In opposite directions, of course. It is over. They are out. ‘One show only, no encores,’ like Eliot said. _Aw, forget that_. This had been an encore. And there is no way Hardison was getting out. He turns to intercept Nate.

“You know,” Hardison says, “I never had that good a time on the job.”

“It’s a walkaway,” Nate says, but his irritation doesn’t hide that he _wants_.

“And I got focus issues,” Hardison presses, “But, brother, you kept me right on.”

“I’m really good at one thing,” Parker says, swinging into step with them. She ignores Nate’s suppressing “Parker” and goes on, “Just one thing, that’s all.” Hardison doesn’t like the unhappy twist to her aura. “But you — you know other things. And I can’t stop doing my one thing, can’t _retire_ — ”

“You wanna know what I think?” Eliot interrupts, cutting in on Nate’s other side.

“Not really,” Nate says, and means it, because he knows how Eliot’s going to continue.

“How long till you fall apart again?” Eliot says. He’s legitimately concerned, too.

“Oh, I’m touched.” Nate’s sarcasm does nothing.

“Yeah, well,” Eliot says, pushing on, “A guy like you can’t be out of the game. That’s why you were a wreck, you _need_ the chase.” That’s personal experience, that’s what that sounds like.

“Yeah, I’ll manage,” Nate says unconvincingly. His phone rings, cutting off Eliot’s retort. “Yeah?” Nate says into his phone, and sighs. Sophie’s sitting on the bench up the path — holding her phone to her ear. Nate stops. Hardison, Eliot, and Parker stop with him. They wait.

“You pick the jobs,” Sophie says when she’s face to face with Nate. He can’t meet her eyes.

“My job is _helping_ people,” Nate says. It’s an excuse. “I find bad guys.”

“Well, go find some bad guys,” Sophie tells him. “Bad guys have money. Black king,” she glances down, then up again to meet Nate’s eyes. “White knight.”

Somehow, that’s enough. Sophie has him.

Damn, she is _good_.


	12. Epilogue

“There’s something fishy about this,” Sentinel Imani Freeman mutters to herself. “He was telling the truth. Someone out there is very, very good.” She flips through the guest list for the shareholder’s meeting the FBI had brought her into. Gunshtodt had been there. There might be a picture. “I am going to find you,” she promises, “And then we will have a little talk.”


End file.
